


Adorn

by WhoopsOK



Series: Adoration [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Kink, Cutting, Dirty Talk, Edgeplay, Kinktober, Knifeplay, M/M, Multi, Scarification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-24 23:13:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16185203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoopsOK/pseuds/WhoopsOK
Summary: “Dean turns the knife over in his hands, thinking about the feel of his brothers’ lips against his, and wonders how much he’ll let himself get away with today.”(Every single cut has to mean something, so Dean, the stoic, starts rambling.)Heed the tags.





	Adorn

**Author's Note:**

> Day 3: ~~Edgeplay?~~ Knife Play
> 
> Sequel to The Ache of Adoration, added to a series for simplicity.
> 
> ...also the last thing getting posted on time, guess who got called in for extra hours at work this week!!

Dean remembers making a promise to himself after Hell, that he would never touch the part of himself that’d been exploited there, would never let it see the light of day again.

In all his life before, Dean had never thought about causing pain as something fun beyond, you know, casual shit. Girls who liked having their hair pulled or their ass spanked, biting hard enough to bruise, the one chick from Austin that liked having her piercings tugged; practically vanilla shit. But damn if he didn’t love everything about it, and damned he was when Alistair found it and twisted it around until Dean wanted nothing more than a blade in his hand and someone to make scream. That level of sadism doesn’t come from nowhere and that scared the _shit_ out of Dean when he got back topside. By the time he was able to even get it up again, all those months later, he never let himself get rough around sex, never caused any pain that wasn’t expressly necessary.

And, well, in all fairness, nobody has said anything about sex yet, but Dean is a grunt, not a fool.

When Sam places the blade in his hand, the trepidation falls off his face all at once and leaves Sam looking at Dean with more heat than he’s ever had directed at him. They’ve never—It’s never been about sex when Sam looks at Dean like he loves him, not before, but today—

Today Dean is thinking about how Sam made Castiel bleed to take their name, a bold scar of WINCHESTER across his chest. He’s thinking about how he kissed Cas— _finally, after all the time and tension_ —with blood on his face and his brother’s hand pushing him into it. The spark of arousal he’d felt then was enough to steal his breath, but it was nothing compared to what he felt when Sam’s mouth found Castiel’s right beside his.

“Cas?” Sam turns to shout, because this is about the three of them, has to involve the only other surviving member of this dingo-ate-my-baby crazy love story. The one crazy enough to write his name on their bones and make good on his promise to stay.

Dean turns the knife over in his hands, thinking about the feel of his brothers’ lips against his, and wonders how much he’ll let himself get away with today.

When Castiel comes in, he pauses only for a moment when he sees the knife in Dean’s hands, but it’s not fear, he’s just assessing.

Closing the door behind him, he glances at Sam before he nods at the knife. “Can you?” and he says it neutrally, not meaning to imply weakness, just willingness, and Dean takes that for what it is given what he’s about to do.

“Better than most people,” Dean smirks, a nervous roll in his stomach.

Sam flinches at the joke. “Dean…”

“I gotta talk,” Dean cuts in before this can turn into an angst party. He knows himself, he knows he can do this, knows he _will_ if it’s really what Sam wants. But he’s got to talk his way through it, because this it’s different, it has to be. He can’t close himself off, be someone else to get through it unfeeling. He’s _Dean Winchester_. He’s not in Hell, he’s not being forced, he’s not faking this. He’s here with people who love and trust him doing what they all want. “Probably the whole damn time.”

Sam looks confused by his words. “You can do whatever you—” Something must change on Dean’s face because Sam stops, and Dean can physically see him rephrasing the words. “I _want_ you to do whatever you need to, Dean. If it’s talk, or cry, or put that knife down and never touch it again, I want you to do that. I _do_ want this, but not more than something you _need_.” He starts to say something else, but it takes Dean flicking his eyebrows up for him to finish. He clears his throat, suddenly flush and unable to look Dean in the eye. “Any way that I could… _be_ _with_ you won’t be settling. It’ll mean everything, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t know what to do with that right away, can’t talk past the love welling up in his throat. “Be with me,” he repeats.

“Anyway I can,” Sam confirms.

Dean tries to convince himself not to say what he says, “So that’s how it works with you, too, huh?” He looks over at Castiel, wishes he could see Sam’s handiwork through his shirt. “I put my name on it, it’s mine? I can do what I want with it?”

Castiel’s eyes blowing dark is not a shock, he’s seen exactly how much Castiel likes belonging to and with them. But turning to watch Sam’s mouth drop open, the red in his cheeks suffusing down his throat as his breath catches actually surprises him. He’d been prepared for a fight, even if just a bit of brotherly antagonism. Instead, there is bald lust all over Sam’s face, even as he struggles to stay on an even keel.

Sam swallows, breath shivery when he lets it out, “Yes.”

Coming to his feet in a rush, Dean gets in Sam’s face. “Sam, there ain’t no backing out of this.”

“We’re way past that,” Sam says, swaying towards him, catching himself and standing upright. “Dean, I’m not going anywhere you’re not. We’re—” his eyes cut over to Castiel, “This is it for me, you two are _everything_.”

“Signing on the dotted line,” Castiel repeats, then his hand is on Sam’s chest. “Right over your heart?”

Sam flushes sharply, but nods. “ _Yes.”_

Denying Sam is not something Dean has ever been good at and he doesn’t feel any particular inclination to start now. He decides he doesn’t care about the sheets, fuck the comforter, he can’t make himself care over the sudden flame of possessiveness Sam is stoking in his chest. Castiel is wearing Winchester, wearing _both_ of them, but Sam isn’t wearing Dean and that suddenly just isn’t acceptable. He grabs Sam by the shirt, turning him back towards the bed, Sam moving trustingly to where he’s put. _This heart belongs to Dean Winchester._

“Shit, Sam, you’re so fucking corny,” Dean says, “Over the heart? Really?”

Sam still looks dazed, but something closer to his normal sarcastic smirk kicks up the side of his mouth. “I’ll start singing Phil Collins if you don’t get a move on.”

Dean pulls his hair in retaliation before he steps back to roll up his sleeves, arching an eyebrow as Sam watches the process with interest. “Cas, get his shirt off,” Dean says and Castiel moves in to do as ordered. “Where do you want to be?”

“Right here,” Castiel answers vaguely, kissing Sam when his Shirt comes free. It looks like it was meant to be chaste, but then Sam’s hand came up to the back of his head and _right here_ became a little more literal. Dean feels a lick of heat in his stomach when he watches the flash of Sam’s tongue cross Castiel’s lip as he falls back onto the bed.

“You never did get him off,” Dean muses, deciding to shuck his jeans before straddling Sam’s thighs. Some combination of his words and his brother’s body resting on him makes Sam’s hips twitch up, the bulge in his jeans more than a little noticeable. Dean struggles to focus. “Cas.”

Castiel pulls back, sitting off to the side of Sam’s chest, giving Dean a full view of his little brother spread out and waiting to be marked. “Jeez, dude,” Dean says, shaking his head, shamelessly eyeing his sculpted chest in a way he’d never allowed himself. “My Sammy, just _look_ at you.”

“ _Touch_ me,” Sam gasps, voice already breathy.

“I _am_ touching you,” Dean says teasingly, squeezing with his thighs, but seconds later, he’s stroking up Sam’s abs to his pecs almost reverently. Dean’s hands tremble just slightly, a bobble of hesitation before he seems to come to himself. “And I can touch you however I like, right? ‘course I can,” he answers for Sam, catching both nipples in a hard grip.

Sam has never been particularly sensitive there, so it doesn’t bridge into pain right away, likely not like Dean intends. Still, the fact that it’s happening at all has Sam arching up off the bed. “Dean—”

“I don’t want to hold you down, I can’t,” Dean says, watching his brother bow under his hands. “Can you be still for me?” Dean’s throat clicks dryly as Sam nods, forcing himself back flat and spreading his hands out wide. Castiel catches hold of the one that lands in his lap.

“It will hurt more for you,” Castiel warns softly, stroking his thumb across the back of Sam’s hand.

“I know,” Sam replies. “I can take it. I _want_ it.”

“We know, tough guy,” Dean says, but feels grounded in the sound of their voices, nervous maybe, but not broken or scared. He’s…Honestly, he’s a little curious to see how Sam wears his pain when it’s tangled up in want and love and _arousal._ Leaning over to grab some alcohol swabs from the first aid kit under his bed, Dean makes thorough work of cleaning Sam’s chest. It’s one more step away from hell, especially when it makes Sam’s heartbeat visibly spike, his skin pebbling with goose bumps. “Bet you’ll wear it just as pretty as Cas.” He doesn’t specify if ‘ _it_ ’ refers to the scars or the pain, mostly because he isn’t sure which he means.

Dean picks up the knife again, this time with much less trepidation. In fact, with _no_ fear at all. This is how they’re meant to be, bloodied and scarred for each other; _made_ for each other. One day Dean is going under this knife, too, but for now he focuses on his brother’s unmarred chest. “You just asked and it still feels like I been waiting forever,” he says, laying a hand on Sam’s chest. “Want you so bad, man.”

“Take me,” Sam dares and that’s one hell of an open ended demand.

“Wait,” Castiel says, but before either of them can ask, Dean is shuddering as Castiel’s hand slides up his neck to the back of his head. “It hurt him when he realized he hadn’t said—”

“He knows I love him just like you knew he loved you,” Dean says, not once looking away from Sam. Sam’s expression buckles, crumbling towards tears even as he nods.

“It hurt so much he kissed me,” Castiel emphasizes and, oh. Oh, right, they’re skipping steps here.

It’s so easy to conceptualize blood and pain between them, that sometimes Dean forgets he can take the little things, too. Sam had kissed his fingers that first night, looking at Dean like he wouldn’t trade him for all the world. Looking like maybe Dean _was_ his whole world. Of course he’d let him kiss him. Even so, Dean feels a little sheepish, like somehow kissing his heavier than sharpened metal. “Can I, Sammy?”

“You can do whatever you want to him,” Castiel reminds him before Sam can answer, making Sam’s face flash red, his breath stumbling in his chest.

“I thought you were supposed to be the angel on my shoulder,” Dean snarks, giving Castiel a look that just makes the angel sit up straighter.

“I’m a Winchester,” Castiel points out haughtily, as if it explains everything and it really sort of does. Dean can’t help but kiss him for that.

Still, like Sam had before, he lets Castiel guide him down, press his mouth against Sam’s. It sends a startled pulse of disbelief through Dean’s chest before it’s just Sam, Sam, Sam _, fuck,_ he loves his brother’s mouth, drunk on it already. They spend more time making out than Dean really meant to, but it’s all for the better. The tension in the room has eased under the heat, Sam relaxed and easy between Dean’s legs, Castiel stroking his hair fondly.

“You tell me if you need to stop or I’ll kick your fucking ass,” Dean mutters against his mouth, sitting back on his haunches.

“Yes, s—” Sam faintly shakes his head, as though to clear his own thoughts, “Ok, D.”

Dean goes a little hot at the thought of Sam’s cut off ‘ _yes, sir’_ , but doesn’t do more than smirk at him. “You always were so good,” he mumbles, presses the knife down without looking for just a second, just to watch Sam’s face change as the pain kicks in, watch the sweat bead up on his forehead. He focuses on his hands shortly after, watching the blood well up around the tip of the blade. “Not tracing this shit, it’s all me, only me. You wanted it like the car, like you’re mine to mark up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam agrees breathlessly, gripping Castiel’s hand. “Just you, not perfect, just _you._ ”

“C’mon, you don’t think I’m perfect?” Dean says, gouging out the back line of the ‘D’. It looks a little messy, not like Sam’s perfect straight lines of peeled skin, but that’s sort of the point. He repeats the cut, just off to the side of the first, Sam trembling and groaning as he does. “Answer me, Sammy, cat got your tongue already?”

Sam makes a nonsense sound that Dean is about to make fun of until Sam gets ahold of himself. “ _Ah-ah,_ fuck _,_ I think you’re a disaster and the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

It’s almost enough to choke Dean up, because he can’t make himself force the emotion down, not today, not when they’re like this. Instead he just swallows, can already hear the catch in his voice before he speaks. “Life with you is a real chick flick, you know that?” he says, “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”

“You raised him,” Castiel says and Dean looks up from carving the top of the D to find Castiel staring down at Sam with unshielded love, stroking his hair back from his sweaty forehead. “The best you can do is amazing, Dean, of course you deserve him for it.”

“Ok, that’s enough,” Dean says, the words sitting uncomfortably warm behind his eyes. “I’m the one that’s supposed to be talking.”

Sam’s eyes fall back to his, pain making his eyes little more than a ring of color around a pool of black. His breathing is shallow and unsteady. “Then talk, I want to hear you,” he gasps, then lets his head tip back into Castiel’s hand.

“Dean, let him have your voice,” Castiel says, his fingers turning white in Sam’s grip. “Tell him something.”

Dean wants to tell him everything. But he starts with the obvious, the things Sam has been told before. That he’s so big and gorgeous, Dean doesn’t understand how everyone he meets isn’t tripping over themselves to get to him. Dean’s been looking at him for over twenty years and still, _still_ Sam makes his heart jump in his chest sometimes, this is _Sammy._ This is Dean’s little Sammy that grew up into this man, who’s been through so goddamn much and come out the other side, just as beautiful and kind, making Dean so fucking proud. Dean has never loved anyone the way he loves his brother—his _brothers_ , now, and he loves the fact that they’ve bled for each other, that they _chose_ to, all together. Dean will be able to look at them and remember their blood on his hands without guilt. He’ll remember the way Sam’s eyes couldn’t focus on anything for longer than a second, the shuddering little gasps of his breath, with _heat_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean mutters, because Sam is still twitching with pain, eyes murky, but this is so blatantly sexual for Dean he’s leaking in his pants. This wasn’t supposed to be about the pain he put Sam through, but Sam wears hurt so damn beautifully Dean wants to swallow him whole. Instead, he splays his hand over the raw and jagged ‘DW’. “Is this what it felt like for you?”

Sam whines loud and sharp, twisting away from Dean’s hand. Dean chases him down. “ _Dean._ ”

“It hurts so good, doesn’t it?” Castiel says, kissing Sam’s cheek as tears leak in a steady stream down his face.

“I know, baby,” Dean replies gently. “I’m all done, you did it. You look so good.” He stares down at his hands, at the knife, covered in blood, Sam’s wounds still oozing sluggishly. He feels out of his head with how good this feels, _fuck_ , Sam _wanted_ this. He doesn’t try to swallow his confession back. “I’m so hard right now. Were you? Did watching Cas bleed for you get you hard? Make you wanna rub one out?”

“Do it,” Sam hisses and Dean’s eyes snap back to his. He can feel the way his eyes have gone wild, can see the reflecting want blow Sam’s eyes wide. He closes his free hand around nothing, leaves it obediently splayed out on the bed. Letting go of Castiel’s hand, he starts pawing for the angel’s crotch. “Get yourself off with it, Dean, I wanna—”

“ _Fuck, Sammy,_ ” Dean gasps and Castiel bows into Sam’s touch, moaning softly.

“—I wanna watch you, D, _please_.”

Dean tosses the knife aside, uses his off hand to tug himself out of his boxers. “You’re killing me,” he gasps, taking his hand off Sam’s wounds, practically dripping as he takes himself in hand. Something about the bright red splash of Sam’s blood across his arousal makes his mind go fuzzy, Sam _wants this._ The drag isn’t smooth, not quite, it’s a little too sticky for that, but it’s enough that Dean’s toes curl. Looking down at Sam, panting and bleeding, his hand shoved down Castiel’s pants, Dean feels the end rushing to meet him embarrassingly quick. “Already so damn close for you, baby, _never_ get there this fast.”

“Please,” Castiel begs, eyes shut and mouth open wide against Sam’s shoulder as he thrusts into his hand and Dean’s going to lose it _right the fuck now._

Sam must sense it because his face goes a little frantic, something that could damn near be called desperate. “Come here,” he says quickly, eyes jerking between Dean’s cock and his face. “Dean, my mouth—”

Dean doesn’t have the time to think about it, doesn’t even have the time to let him finish before he’s shuffling forward and finishing himself. The thought of Sam getting a mouth full of his own blood and Dean’s _cock_ , leaves Dean staggering as he comes in his brother’s mouth. His hips stuttering deeper when Sam groans around him, swallowing greedily, leaving Dean’s ears ringing.

“ _Oh,_ ” Castiel gasps and Dean pries his eyes open to see him freeze against their sides, save for the tiny jolting motions of his hips, his come seeping into the front of his boxers.

Turning his gaze back down, Dean’s brain fuzzes out when he meet’s Sam’s eyes, still bleary and gone on pain and arousal, his lips still _wrapped around Dean’s cock._ He looks Dean dead in the eyes as he suckles and if Dean was even a little younger he’d be ready to go again just from that. As it stands he just moans and pulls out, moving as fast as he can without hurting anyone to get his mouth on Sam’s.

Sam hums at that, mouth slack and sloppy with come and blood and Dean is still turned on out of his head, he actually might be able to get it up again. Especially if Sam wants him to—well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

“Sammy?” he says, pulling back to get a good look at his face. “You with us, man?”

“Mm? Yeah,” Sam hums, then laughs drowsily. “Can’ get it up righ’ now.”

Castiel hasn’t quite stopped shaking from his own orgasm, but sits up slightly. “Would you like me to heal you?”

“Mm,” Sam says again, “no?”

“You’ll regret that in the morning,” Dean says, but makes plans to wake Sam up with at least one orgasm.

Sam bumps his head against Castiel’s when he shakes it, then rests it there like he decides it feels good. “Not if you kiss me again, I won’t.”

Dean flounders for a second, baffled by Sam’s flirtatious sweetness. He’s used to profound love and sassiness, he’s normally only sweet with people who need it and he’s never flirted with Dean before. Dean’s already allowed himself a lot today, but it seems like Sam is more than happy to give him more.

So they kiss each other, then, alternating between three pairs of lips and varying levels of coordination. Sam only manages to stay awake long enough for Dean to clean him up and dress his wound, before he tugs them down into his bed and crashes almost immediately.

Castiel lays on the unadorned part of his chest, eyes cutting up to Dean’s with a smile that makes Dean smirk at him, tweaking his cheek.

It’ll likely become a habit, that after he hurts them, he has to watch him sleep, but he doesn’t figure they’ll begrudge him that, can’t make himself fight the urge. Dean lays his hand just over the bandage on his brother’s chest, lets himself have this.

Nobody has taken too much today.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you…asking for what you need is not asking too much
> 
> (Psst... doing my civic duty and reminding my American darlings to check their voter registrations before the 9th!)
> 
> Minor typo edit, thanks mom!!


End file.
